Blackbird
by coyote-water
Summary: Clint's just trying to learn how to breath again. Clintasha.
1. Chapter 1

**Blackbird**  
**Chapter one:**  
_"Blackbird singing in the dead on night."_  
(The Beatles)

* * *

I felt the blade on my neck; cool, sharp metal being pressed just hard enough that a trickle of blood ran down my chest.

"This isn't you, this isn't you, this is-." My voice came out in trembles, lacking any of it's usual compose. I had lost it, I was loosing everything. This wasn't a battle I could win, I couldn't even fight it. I felt tears trickling down my face to my neck, mixing in with my sweat and blood along the way. The awful cliche of all that I had put into this.

What can I say? Clint always was the one I would cry infront of.

I thought he had come to, his eyes returned to their color and he looked almost apologetic, but he pressed the blade further into my skin. I couldnt feel pain, but I also couldn't breathe, the blood was rushing into my asophogus and down to my lungs. Despite the grotesque sound of my gurgling, I screamed.

"CLINT!"

He quickly dropped me along with the weapon causing my back hit the hard floor with a sickening splat, newly freed hands flew to my neck in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. The archer's mouth was agape, hazel eyes wide and glazed over as if he was four years old all over again, just learning of his parents deaths. He lunged for me once again and I tried my best to move away, when he reached for me I shred away like his skin was made of fire. I struggled against him until I realized that he wasn't trying to harm me. He was just holding me there, murmuring my name over again. Oh, Nat, Nat, Nat.

A light suddenly appeared above us and I couldn't help but ponder it's source. ''Not heaven,' I thought, 'not for me.' Though I knew whatever fate was coming for me inescapable. I shut my burning eyes, attempting to escape the bright light. Clint shook me, yelling at me, over and over again.

"Natasha, Natasha open your eyes!"

"Nat!"

I gasped, opening my eyes to Clint hovering over me. No blood, no knife, only tired hazel eyes and messy hair. I must have woken him, no. He was already awake, Clint doesn't sleep much anymore.

"You alright?" He frowned, brushed my red locks from around my neck, and then out of my face. The dark circles under his eyes seemed especially prominent and I nodded, even though of did want to discuss the dream, the poor man was already too worried. Clint didn't need anything else on his brain.

"You screamed." He was quiet now, tracing my jaw with his thumb and for a second I forgot about the dream, I even forgot about New York. But then he touched my neck and his skin turned into fire all over again. I jumped, he frowned.

"Let's get some sleep Clint." _You haven't slept in days._ I rolled over, pulling him down with me and didn't shudder when he wrapped his arms around me. I was thankful for subtle sounds of rain on the window, for him holding me like I was the paper he had burned, I was thankful for the quiet, but-

"Clint."

"Hm?"

"Why is the light on?"

"Jaaaarrviiisssss."

* * *

**This one's short, just over 500 words. Not a very impressive first chapter if you ask me. This story won't be very climatic, mainly just 'one shots' and things about different points in Clint and Natasha's relationship, centered around the strain put on the two of them after the events of The Avengers.  
Thank all for reading! (:  
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own ideas, Black Widow and Hawkeye are both property of Marvel. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Blackbird**  
**Chapter 2**  
_"Take these broken wings and learn to fly."_  
(The Beatles)

* * *

The mornings were always the same, one of us would be gone when the other woke. I had been thankful for that in the last few months. Nothing was the same and I was afraid sometimes, a lot of times but. He knew that.

Clint knew that and he stayed, trying to repair whatever had been broken between us.

On missions, we were flawless. Reading each other so easily that it shouldn't have been humanly possible. How could someone gather so much through the twitch of brow or bat of an eyelash? It was like nothing had happened. But then we came home.

He tried to give me space. He would stay behind to finish the mission reports, letting me come home and crawl into bed before he was even on the way home. This time it was different.

Before, we both couldn't wait to get home and go through our routine. Shower, dinner, bed, and we stayed together. Never tiring of the other's presence, even after Budapest.

We got home and I started shedding my suit before he had even fished closing the door. It was sweaty, filled with sand and uncomfortable to say the least. Clint quickly averted his eyes, concentrating on anything but me.

I was finished, standing in my underwear, telling myself it was okay. Clint had seen my body before and I wasn't a shy teenage girl. Even when I was a teenaged girl I has never felt this naked infront of anyone.

Clint was so concentrated on removing his arm guards that he tensed upon feeling my hand on his arm. He finally look at me, at my eyes, not my body. He was just as afraid of me as I was of him.

I moved my hand up to his shoulder, resting it there while I let my other hand do the same on his other shoulder. I could feel how tense he was as I moved my hands lower to his chest, using one of them to unzip his vest and reveal the black muscle shirt he wore underneath. I slid my hands under the vest, letting them rest on his chest.

I watched him, waiting for him to say something but, he didn't. He didn't really have to. He said everything with his eyes, like when we were on missions, his hazel eyes would scream at me with whatever emotion was stirring inside of them. I slid my hands back up to his shoulders, pushing the vest off if him.

Her hands were ice on his burning skin. The touch felt familiar but, foreign, making goosebumps spread down his arms. She slowly slid her hands down and took his hands in hers. He was tense, she knew that, so she took a step back.

But, just as much as she was willing to let go, he was willing to stay.

He took a step closer to her, hands still touching hands, now chest touching chest. She was was still cold, willing to distance herself to keep from melting but, she was warmer now. Just as he wasn't as burning, not as words, they both thought, hoped, that maybe they were leveling each other out. Maybe.

She led him to the bathroom where she turned on the shower as he shed the rest of his clothes. They both stepped into the wonderfully temperate water and both made a silent agreement to just be with each other. Her face buried into his neck, tickling as her lips moved to make silent promises. His head on top of hers, lips pressing into her damp hair. Nose to nose, face to face, just looking into each other and not through.

No words, just batting eyelashes and raised eyebrows. They were warm, even stepping out of the shower, the two assassins ate and then went to bed. Their routine. She let him hold her and she placed her warm hands in his. She was sleeping, breathing steadily without a single sound and Clint's mind was quiet.

Everything stopped spinning and prodding at his brain. He didn't feel the usual anxious burn in his stomach. He didn't even notice that he had fallen asleep until he was awoken by the hot sunlight shining through the blinds hours later.

It wasn't until then that he noticed that he was alone again and the familiar hot burn returned to his stomach.

* * *

**ouhhh, short chapters are what burn me, sorry,  
longer, happier chapters are in the making  
Thanks to those who faved & followed!  
I don't own anything recognizable. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Blackbird**  
**Chapter three:**  
_"All your life, you were only waiting..."_  
(The Beatles)

* * *

Hazel eyes bore into the bedside clock, counting down each second, _5, 4, 3_, and finally the click flickered to 4:00 am

Everyday she would wake up, 5:00 am, get ready and then leave. Clint would wake hours later and loneliness would take over upon realizing that she was gone. He wouldn't even drag himself out of bed. He would thrash around, uneasily trying to fall back asleep until someone would call him into work. Then he would get dressed and try to shake the unnecessary feeling of utter abandonment.

He was such a damn baby, but God, she left him. He hated it when she left. So, he sprang into action, a very quiet, clumsy spring as he struggled to untangle himself from the sheets without waking the sleeping red head.

Clint crept into the kitchen, stepping silently as his adrenaline rocketed through the roof, mind shifting into mission mode. The archer retrieved his phone from where it sat charging on the counter, quickly opening his browser and typing away into the search bar. His tired eyes skimmed through multiple results until finally finding the perfect one. He had to get straight to work.

He only had an hour.

Green eyes snapped open to the sound of pans hitting the tiled kitchen floor. Shoulders tensed, she moved to retrieve the nine millimeter from the drawer of the nightstand but, froze upon hearing Clint's incessant mumbling. She sighed, pleased with the fact that no one was breaking into their home in the middle of the night, then moved to look at the clock.

_4:12 am_

_чертов идиот._

Knowing that she didn't have to be up until five, she made no effort to get up. She tried to relax with no avail: the woman was too shaken to fall back asleep so, she settled for simply lounging in bed a while longer. Although she was antsy, adrenaline pumping through her veins, she didn't want to remove herself from the chilly mattress. She didn't want to get up.

Clint was awake. She didn't want Clint to be awake.

After coming back from missions, they went through their routine. Shower, dinner, sleep. They didn't talk, not with their voices at least, and it was fine. It was wonderful even but, mornings were different. She would wake up and not know what to say to him, leaving them back at square one. So instead, she left.

But now he was awake, in the kitchen, doing who knows what and she would have to get up. To go into the kitchen and say something to him.

Stretching, she let out a pleased sigh at her popping bones before throwing her feet over the side of the bed and standing. The careful girl let her feet silently carry her while her mind pondered how to handle this situation.

Maybe her brain was still clouded by sleep or maybe she had forgotten about the way he was with her eyes studying him from the doorway. Mixing and pouring different things into a bowl, scratching his head as his tired eyes squinted at the phone's screen. Then going off to hunt through the cabinets once again.

He was a mess but he was beautiful all the same and he was _trying_. Clint had gotten out of bed and made an effort to cook something, to try and be up before Natasha herself. He was trying and she loved him.

But when he turned after grabbing a few things from the fridge, she saw his eyes, his face, him. He was still tired, his hands still shook ever so slightly from anxiety and she remember to be more careful.

'I love you.' Was too much, the phrase was even used scarcely even before things were bent. It wasn't appropriate no matter how much she wanted to tell him.

'Hey.' Wasn't enough, he would repeat the words back to her and then drift off again. Into a silence neither knew how to break. Before she could think of something more fitting, her lips were moving and she was moving into the middle of the kitchen.

_Careful_.

"What are you doing?" Natasha knit her eyebrows together, acting as if she hadn't noticed him banging around the kitchen before.

"Oh," Clint dropped an egg, watching as it fell to the floor with a splattering _crack_, "I was making pancakes."

"Why so early?" Questions kept him talking.

"I couldn't sleep, I was hungry." _Dummy, dummy, DUMMY._

Natasha smiled, knowing those were lies. She was _trained_ to distinguish truth from lies; you'd think he would try to be a little more convincing. "Let me help you."

The sandy haired man protested, but let her clean up the broken egg on the floor, seeing as he really didn't want to do it anyways. The rest of the cooking, however, he insisted he did himself. Telling her to go get ready for work because he could handle it, they're _just pancakes. Nat, I promise I won't burn down the house. I can handle it. _

Reluctantly complying, she left to the bathroom to ready herself for the day, turning the shower on while she did her make up so that no one would know that she had skipped it to spend time with the mess of a man that was her partner. She hurried through her routine, doing anything that would save her just a few seconds.

_Please don't burn anything_.

He jumped, feeling two arms grab him from behind and turned around quickly. Natasha distanced herself, grabbing for the batter in his hands, ignoring the fact that he had looked completely terrified of her.

"Let me help you with this."

"Oh, no. I can-"

"I know you can, let me help."

Their eyes met again and he gave her a slight nod before turning back to the stove. He hadn't been able to do a lot after New York. It was hard just to get out of bed, to shower, to feed himself. It was so embarrassing that simple basic human functions were so hard for him. Sometimes he had wondered when breathing was going to become a chore as well.

Then he started doing things for her, he showered and ate dinner with her, because she wanted him there. He was cooking now, because he wanted to be with her and he thought that she wanted to me with him. The man was trying so hard just to be better for her.

Clint tried pouring the batter, shaky hands making the pancake come out in an odd shape before a cold feeling came over his own hand and the stream of batter turned steady and consistent. A perfect circle.

Natasha took her hand away from his own tan, calloused one, allowing him to set bowl aside. She stood close to him, carefully leaning against him, cheek pressed against his shirtless back as she allowed her hands to clasp around his midsection.

He didn't shy, flinch, or tense at the woman's actions. Clint simply placed his free hand on top of her clasped ones and used the other to flip the pancakes. The woman holding the spatula welding blonde couldn't help but grin and turn her head to place small kisses on the tan skin of his back.

"So, do you want blueberries or what?"

"Strawberries." Natasha continued snuggling into him, helping him pour the batter when he needed it and kissing him until she was sure he was wearing more of her rosy pink lipstick than she was.

"Well, you've gotta get them out..." Clint turned to look over his shoulder at the red head clinging to him. The first woman scoffed, detaching herself to move towards the refrigerator.

"Oh, alright, Mr. _I'll do it myself."_

_"_Okay, Miss _let me help you."_

Natasha rolled her eyes at his humor, causing him to chuckle as she buried her head into the fridge to search for the fruit. She breath out a laugh, feeling a weight lift off of her chest. He laughed and it was a chain reaction, making her do the same because was so wonderful to hear his god awful cackling again, laughing at the stupidest things.

They sat down together, each with a stack of pancakes, Natasha glancing up at Clint from beneath her lashes. Neither eating just yet. He was too nervous under her observant eyes and she was too fixated on him to think about eating.

"Nat?"

"It's nothing."

"Oh."

The woman grabbed the syrup and carefully poured it onto her stack of pancakes. She was smirking and Clint was unsure as to why, but he liked it. He liked her smug little smiles.

"Can we trade?"

"Huh?"

She rolled her eyes, dragging his plate over to her and setting her's in front of the clueless man. Clint's face messed up, confused at her smug expression until he looked down at his traded meal. On his pancakes sat a syrup spider, draw to the best of an assassin's abilities.

"Naaaaat."

In one swift motion he had snatched up her plate in one hand and the syrup in the other, busying himself with his own piece of art. She watched him, head propped on her elbows without even bothering to contain her giggling.

"Bon apetit."

He sat down her plate, arrows messily drawn across the flat little cakes and Natasha sighed, content with the moment they were apart of. Clint's hazel eyes didn't look as dull as they once did and her face was aching from smiling so much.

"Thank you."

She was out of breath, closing the front door after Clint had given her a small, warm goodbye kiss. She never noticed how wonderfully his eyes wrinkled when he smiled, or the way his laugh was too loud; Too loud and too hearty but it was illuminating and the emotionless assassin couldn't help but beam at his beautiful cackling.

She was happy Clint was awake.

* * *

**Not my best writing, but I think it's sweet ~**

Thank you for the reviews, I would have updated sooner as a thank you if would have known I had gotten so many. If I'm not busy in the next week I'll make sure to check back and post sooner.

I'm very glad that you all seem to be enjoy it, thanks for the compliments!  
I hope I don't disappoint. 

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**To ****darex2xdream**** and ****crowleysinterimrulerofhell**** who both commented on my changing point of view in the last chapter: I aware that I had changed point of views but, that you for politely pointing it out! I don't really have a beta reader or anything so if you do notice any errors please tell me. I'm also sorry if the sudden change in POV was confusing to you two or anyone else. I'll try to avoid it in the future. xxx**

Thank you for reading ~


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